Fix You
by LondonBelow
Summary: Series of scenes from Roger and Mimi's lives preRENT. [speedrent entry] COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** just about anything dark you can think up will be in this story. It's not happy.  
**Disclaimer:** RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

**When you try your best but you don't succeed  
When you get what you want but not what you need**

Mark was too bitterly angry to look at Roger after they found him with the spoon in his hand. It had been a week. The fever had passed, the shaking. Roger had ceased sweating, crying out in pain, vomiting. The worst of it was over, and yet he sat on his bedroom floor, holding the spoon over a small candle, watching so intently his eyes watered as the powder melted into liquid.

Mark could not bring himself to speak. He shook his head, turned and walked away. It was Collins who knelt beside Roger. "Put it down," he said gently.

Roger refused.

"Give it to me," in a warning tone. Roger surrendered the spoon and extinguished the candle with his thumb. "That's all of it?" Roger nodded. Collins watched him, unable to believe that Roger would lie because his body language spoke an irrefutable truth. He was cross-legged, arms dangling, shoulders slumping towards the floor. Roger didn't care any more. He didn't care enough to fight for the drugs, and he didn't care enough to lie.

Collins sighed. He wanted to be angry, but what good was anger? He could shout, but there would be no satisfaction in watching Roger flinch and cry. "Come on." Collins stood and hauled Roger to his feet. "Try to get some sleep, man."

"I just couldn't do it anymore," Roger murmured. "I really tried."

"I know you did, Roger. And you'll keep trying until you get there."

TBC

Please review?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

**When you feel so tired but you can't sleep  
Stuck in reverse**

Mark rose for the umpteenth time that night. He wandered into the bathroom and relieved himself; the urge had not roused him, but it served for something to do. Perhaps even this tiny motion, having risen and settled again to bed, would bring him sleep. He circled the loft before return to bed, pausing by Roger's bedroom. He shone his flashlight over Roger, who whimpered and turned away.

"Stop," he moaned.

Mark clicked off the flashlight and walked back to his room. He climbed into bed and blew out a lungful of air. The mattress relaxed him, the softness and warmth of the quilt brought a smile to his face. Most of his money had gone into the bed. Mark could not explain exactly how important it was that this one place be perfect. He could not articulate the importance of a perfectly weighted, perfectly worn cover, of two pillows for the luxury of rejecting one, of clean sheets although it meant a trip to the Laundromat every weekend.

He glanced at the luminous hands of the clock by his bed. It was 2:15 a.m. and Mark Cohen could not sleep, no matter how comfortable his bed was. What if Roger left the loft? His word was enough for Collins, but not Mark. Mark knew a man's word might be as flimsy as a leaf of grass, so he lay awake that night, listening. He rose whenever Roger's mattress squeaked.

At 4:56 a.m., Roger's mattress squeaked, then the floorboards. He moaned as he stumbled through the loft. Mark was out of bed as quick as lightning. He stopped directly in front of Roger and hissed, "What're you doing?"

"I need to pee," Roger answered.

Mark nodded. "Okay." He watched the dusky form of Roger disappear into the bathroom and listened for the appropriate noises. When Roger left the bathroom, he glanced at Mark as though asking, _okay?_ "Good night, Roger," Mark said, though the night was over and morning begun.

"'Night." Roger stumbled back into his room.

When Mark heard Collins boil a pot of coffee an hour and a half later, he allowed his eyes to close.

TBC

Providing Internet connetion holds up, I'm planning to update this ever day.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

Yes, I did mean Mimi's name in the summary. There are Mimi chapters coming, I promise!

**and the tears come streaming down your face  
when you lose something you can't replace  
when you love some one but it goes to waste  
could it be worse**

It was that dream again, one of the many that sent Roger into spasms, fighting an enemy no one else could see, flailing and breaking things totally by accident. He looked like a man having a seizure, and was in nearly as much danger. "Oh, G-d, oh, G-d, you can't do it, no, April, don't, please! Don't leave me, don't, April, baby, please!"

The screams were a piece of luck, in Collins' opinion. There were dreams when he made not a sound, when Roger awoke with bruises and cuts he could not explain. Four days ago, he had woken with a shoulder out of place.

"Roger, wake up! Shit. Roger!"

Roger whimpered and kicked blindly. "April--"

"Roger!" Collins insisted, shaking him.

Mark stood in the doorway, afraid to come any closer. Roger in his right mind was no danger. He was silly, sometimes quiet, and slightly uncoordinated, but dangerous? Never. Now, Mark preferred to take no chances. "He's not waking up--"

"Yeah, I can see that!" Collins snapped. Roger wriggled out of his grasp and jerked away; when Collins caught him, his head was inches from hitting the table. "Wake up," Collins repeated, quiet, not expecting Roger to hear him.

"April," Roger said again. He fought the restraint of Collins' arms to no avail. "April, don't--"

Roger's eyes flashed open. He was panting. He looked quickly from Mark to Collins, confused. "I… what… what… where's April?" he asked.

Collins shook his head. "You know, man."

"No…" Roger's face crumpled. "No!" He sat up and hugged Collins tightly, sobbing against him. "No, no, no…" But he could not cry enough. He could not summon up the tears from the place deep inside of him whence the pain came, and all the shallow tears in the world could not bring him back, as much as they could not bring her back.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

**Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you**

Mimi Marquez held herself and trembled. She lay in bed on her left side, knees tucked up under her chin. It was ten o'clock, and the people upstairs were screaming again. Every shout cut her to the bone, where her heat was stored. Mimi imagined the thickest part of her body as a store of heat, every injury a tiny knife. And scratch as they did, those knives would never puncture her bone. She was safe. She was numb.

_"Leave me alone! Let go of me!"_

_"You're not thinking clearly!"_

_"I don't want to think clearly!"_

Mimi shook and held herself tighter. A moan whined, and a hand landed on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "Yeah." Forcing herself to relax, she turned to the man in her bed and kissed his neck. "Just getting to sleep," she lied, wondering again who he was. He had given basic information. She knew his name. She knew he was allergic shellfish--she had never eaten shellfish. She knew that he liked to call sex "making love" and he did it wearing nothing but socks and a wedding band. She knew he had once been friends with the people upstairs.

She knew he paid her rent, he listened after asking questions, and he made her feel special and broken.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

**And high up above or down below  
When you were too in love to let it go  
But if you never try you'll never know  
Just what you're worth**

Mark stood in his room, sorting old reels of film. He had labeled them carefully to make this process simple, but his new organizational system required more than alphabetization. Mark wanted to know exactly where each reel was and exactly what each reel contained. He had a list: of people, places, common events.

Mark couldn't care less if he knew what was where. He enjoyed surfing through old reels, playing again this happy memory, this lost, golden moment. But Roger had liked the idea and thrown himself into it, and as annoying as his roommate was, Mark found himself unable to stop sorting.

He stood, brushed the dust off the seat of his pants, and bent to lift a box of reels.

"Let me get that for you!"

Mark chuckled. "It's okay, Rog. I think I can manage." He lifted the box easily, knowing that Roger would be panting. Withdrawal had taken the strength of his muscles. "You know you already apologized," Mark reminded him, "and Collins and I told you that it's all right."

Roger nodded. "So how can I help?" he asked.

"Uh… I'm through with this bunch," Mark announced. "You hungry? Okay, you say no, but you are, aren't you?" Roger looked at the floor and blushed. Mark stood on tiptoe to give him a platonic peck on the cheek. "You're so cute when you blush." In the kitchen, he handed Roger a sandwich. This would be their last solid meal until Mark's paycheck in two days. Until then the boys could subsist of bouillon and peanut butter. They had done worse.

"Thanks."

"Eat," Mark reminded him. Roger nibbled the corner of his bread. "You know, you're not proving anything with this--with the not eating and what you're doing to your arms. I know you're sorry. I wish you'd stop punishing yourself."

Roger glanced at Mark, then took a bite of his sandwich. Mark smiled. "That's more of an apology to me than that other shit."

Roger shook his head. "I just wanna know…"

"What?"

"My worth."

Mark took a deep breath. "I believe," he offered, "that G-d does not damn us for sins but only for want of goodness." Roger raised his eyes, inviting Mark to explain. "It means it doesn't matter what you've done wrong. It only matters what you do right."

Roger chewed slowly and bobbed his head as he swallowed. "So nothing I've done matters?"

"Nothing bad," Mark corrected. "It also means that what you're doing now is totally futile. Two more bites."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay. And yes, it was Benny in chapter 4.

**Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you**

Mimi awoke cold. The heat stored in her bones was cruel. It left her blood, muscles, organs and skin to freeze. She drew the blankets closer around her body, lips part to reveal clenched teeth as she rocked, speeding the flow of her blood.

The door to the loft opened and a slight young man entered. He carried a plastic tub under one arm and tried to keep quiet as he shut the door and set his keys on the table.

"A-Angel?" Mimi called.

Angel set down his drum. He squinted through the darkness at Mimi, then went and knelt beside her bed. "What's wrong, Mimita?"

"Would…" She swallowed. "Would you lie next to me, Angel?" Mimi asked. "Just… you don't have to do anything," she added quickly. "I just don't want to be alone.'

Angel sighed. A sad smile graced his face as he pulled off his sneakers. "Sure, Mimi," he said. "Anything for my best girl."

"Thank you."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

**Tears stream down your face  
When you lose something you cannot replace  
Tears stream down your face  
And I**

"Roger, what's wrong?"

Mark found him sitting at the window, staring out. He looked raw, as though he had cried although Mark knew he had not. "What is it?" Mark asked, applying gentle pressure to Roger's shoulder with his fingertips.

Roger continued to gaze absently out the window, hugging crossed legs to his chest. "Did I ever tell you," he wondered aloud, "how I lost my virginity?"

_What?_

Mark sat opposite Roger. "No, you didn't," he admitted. "I know you were with a lot of people when you were with Well Hungarians--"

Roger shook his head. "I mean, the first… y'know. Like a girl's." Obviously he had no desire to say exactly what he meant. Mark nodded. "Anyway, I guess… did I tell you?" Mark shook his head, peering at Roger through a too-large glasses frame. This was nothing they had discussed before; Roger had never before offered anything like this. The sole reason Mark kept from using his camera was that this would cause Roger to shut down. He was speaking to Mark, for Mark and only Mark.

"I… really needed-- wanted a hit," Roger said. "I didn't have any money."

He said nothing more, just looked at his hands and sneaked a quick glance at Mark. And nothing more needed to be said. Mark reached out and stroked Roger's hair above his ear. "You'll never have to do anything like that again," he promised.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.

**Tears stream down your face  
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes  
Tears stream down your face  
And I**

Mimi gritted her teeth and grunted with pain. The brick wall was rough against her bare backside, her shoulders left exposed by a fashionably torn T-shit. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm not here," she murmured, writhing as the man fumbled about inside of her. "I'm not here," not smelling his sweat, not feeling his breath, not hearing his swine-like grunting. "I'm not here," not powerless, not trapped, not being ripped apart. "I'm not her," not that girl.

"It goes a bit quicker if yah help, ducky," he told her.

"Help you to hell," she hissed.

When he had finished, she fell to the ground, scraping her knees on the pavement. They were the last innocent scrapes she would receive. A week later, when she worked up the courage to tell Angel, she would consider the danger of AIDS, the disease consuming her perfect friend. He would stroke her hand in the clinic and hold her when she received the news. "Maybe you'd better get off it now, honey," he would say, back in her apartment. "Maybe it's time to turn things around."

But Mimi would be unable to care about herself and making things better. She would throw herself to the winds, waiting for the one to blow her to hell, to work, and soon, she knew, to him, to the boy upstairs who she had heard so many times, but saw only now as he emerged onto the fire escape at the coaxing of his friend.

"See, Roger, it's safe. Nothing can happen, I promise you, just a few steps…"

And she would remember his name, his voice, and his pretty face.

**Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you.**

THE END


End file.
